1456
Notion me a love
That like a moon I seem moving
Though her motion is the matter.
Nature’s sleights are sound
As the roundness of orbits,
Yet emotions at angles feint
To course the ego’s makeshift
Map of consequence.
Conjure me the spherical
Strangeness of a well round which
Imagined paths magnetic go,
And where as imagined,
Not hocussed they may cross there we be,
One, one, a seeming truth
Imagined too.

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